Rendered Unto Thee
by Emperor KingPerby
Summary: The slayer walks the earth, trapped in this new world after the fall of Yggdrasil


The axe rose, the hatred and spite carried with it blossomed in the mouth of the slayer, blending perfectly in the fearful and terrorised screams of the slain.

The axe fell, burying itself deep into the wound inflicted before.

The axe rose again.

The axe fell again.

In this world of magic and mystery, where creatures so akin to legends and myths walked upon the earth and amongst men and women who held within them the potential to spin the mind numbing energies of the universe around them, bending and shaping that which has existed, and will never exist, the murder of another is a commonplace thing, whether it be in war or in an alley, its perceived commonality never falters, man has killed man since man first understood that it has existed, and that it must exist.

Murder takes place in the minds of all men, its seed dying in the cold confines of those too righteous, or too cowardly to act, but blossoms in those convicted of taking life, even at the behest of saving life.

In this cold rage of mind and body turned against mind and body, it is often a quick act, the rage as fleeting as it is sudden, as short lived as a vapor and as passing as a shadow.

But Rage has seated itself deep in the heart of this slayer, beating madly with the fires of the spirit as he kills, fueled by his enemies attacks and the wounds on his body in a long and drawn out cycle of strike, kill, be struck, retaliate, strike and kill.

Until finally, the last enemy lays in his shadow, the salty wine of his veins seeping into the earth around him, one more life rendered unto Terra.

A butcher's payment rendered unto thee.

The haze of battle lifts, the red mist of bloodshed receding backwards into the fog of sub-consciousness, snarling and snapping like some wild beast called away from the elation of feasting, ready to jump once more into the fray and take its grisly toll.

The slayer takes a look around him, bodies laying scattered and broken amongst the grass around him. Men, horses, dogs, it didn't matter, all were slain, all were dead.

The wounds on his body were deep, his life flowing out of him in thick rivers of scarlet, mingling with the sweat and dirt and grime of the battle before. Was the wind always so cold? Was the sun always so bright?

A gurgled cry echoes from next to him, a dagger flashing into his side in one final, desperate attempt to kill him. The dying enemy grins, his final gamble paying off. The enemy begins to crawl away, dragging the ruined stump of one leg behind him, hope flaring in his heart that he may just survive.

The slayer grows weak, falling to one knee, he was as a cornered lion, fighting with all his fury, but even a lion must succumb to his wounds eventually.

"God." He squeezed out through mashed lips and bloody teeth. "I don't often pray to you before. I have no tongue for it. No one, not even you, will remember if we were good men or bad. Why we fought, or why we died. All that matters is that two stood against many. That's what's important!" He whispered, blood seeping from his lips.

"I hope Valor pleases you, God... so grant me one request. Grant me revenge! And if you do not listen." The slayer forced himself upright, teetering on shaky and tired legs. Baring his teeth in a feral snarl, he turned to face his last, dying enemy, his vision darkening, knowing he was about to die. "Then let it be so."

He roared, taking heavy steps towards his last victim.

Bringing the axe down, his request was granted.

Revenge was his, victory was his, a glorious death was his.

His eyes growing heavy, his soul dancing between life and death, he is able to make out a skeletal hand reaching out for him in his last moments.

It was not death that came for him, but a great Overlord.

(@)

 _The two circled eachother, two combatants locked in a brief respite from their battle. One was a man, not even in his twenties yet, his face carrying a light scratchy beard upon it. His clothes were filthy and ragged, his hair long and unkempt. He panted, his lungs drawing in ragged breaths as his wounds bled._

 _His eyes were bloodshot, and heavy bags lazily slept under them. He had not slept in days, the constant threat of those black creatures had kept him on his toes to no end. His stomach growled, having not had sustenance in quite the long time. His once large and strong body had withered away as he starved, unable to hunt and gather food due to those damned creatures._

 _He snarled at his opponent, who snapped its jaws and gnashed its teeth in return._

 _The wolf eyed its adversary warily, it was dangerous, the broken ribs and smashed leg had proven that already. It attacked with a savagery that was so uncommon in its kind, who usually pointed in awe at the sight of him, or shied away fearfully._

 _But this one was different, it fought for the same reason the wolf did, the gnawing sensation in its belly too much to ignore anymore._

 _Between them lay the man's weapon, a long hatchet with a vicious spike on the back that had been knocked from its hand in the first engagement. Both had traded blows after that, the man desperately trying to retake the knife, and the wild trying to stop him._

 _The two stopped circling, the man letletting loose a bellow of rage and fury as he charged the wolf. The wolf snarled, its legs bursting into action as it sped towards him._

 _The two collided with a tremendous force, the wolf snapping its jaws at his throat as the man tried to hold it back. The mans fist slammed into the side of the wolf repeatedly, his blows shattering the ribs beneath the fur._

 _The wolf managed to to snap its jaws around one of the mans arms, its long teeth piercing the flesh and scraping along the bone._

 _Screaming in fury, unable to feel the pain in his arm through the red haze of his anger, the man wrapped his other arm around the wolf, and with adrenaline fueled strength he lifted its huge form into the air above his head. He strained to hold it there, his body shaking with effort as he continued to howl._

 _Finally, he slammed the wolf down onto his knee, a sickening crack being heard as he snapped its spine over his leg. The wolf cried out, the shock of its injury forcing it to let go of his mangled arm. The man fell to his knees and wrapped his hands around the predator's throat, pressing in with his thumbs as he crushed its windpipe. The wolf struggled, snapping in a futile effort to get away, to survive. The man kept squeezing, not letting up any pressure as the wolf's movements slowed, and its frantic attacks faded away._

 _Finally, with a final crack as its neck broke, it died._

 _The man let go of the wolf, sighing as its body fell limp to the cold dirt. Picking up his weapon, he slammed the blade into its sternum and sliced the belly open, his hand reaching inside to scrounge around in its warm innards. His hand seized a lump, the liver of the beast, and he ripped it out eagerly. Once he freed it of its fleshy moorings, he set upon it with his teeth, tearing the delicate flesh into bloody chunks. He sighed contentedly as he ate, his stomach filling with food for the first time in weeks. He had to eat fast, the creatures that haunted this forest would be upon him soon, and he didn't have the strength to fight one._

 _Finishing his raw meal, he slung the wolf over his shoulder, before leaving to fade into the forest._

That was the last time Jerrok had eaten, the raw meat of the wolf was tough, gnarly and sour, but it had filled his belly and the hide had kept him warm.

Strange, that the last flashes of a mans life would not be of his greatest triumph, nor his best kills, but of the last meal he had eaten. Death could sure be as strange as life sometimes.

But was he dead?

It didn't feel like it, whatever death felt like. He could still feel his body, the burning itch of his wounds slowly being overtaken by the cool feeling of someone bandaging them. Was he mortal, even in death? Did his wounds follow to haunt him forever? Was he doomed to a ghastly existence of pain and agony?

Did his god cast him out? His end was valorous, his courage immense, did he not deserve a place by his side?

With a start, his eyes snapped open.

A lavish bed filled beneath him, the soft mattress and luscious pillows sinking with his weight. A stone ceiling was above him, candles sat on a nearby table, just where in the nine hells was he?

A gentle touch laid itself on his chest, urging him back to laying down. Jerrok feasted his eyes upon the beauty that sat at his bedside, her piercing amber eyes and smooth tanned skin teased his senses, her red hair done in pigtails teased his nose with the scent of roses and daisies.

"By the eagle." He swore. "Am I in heaven?"

 ** _A/N: So yes, an overlord story, I like the show, I love the characters, what can I say? This is also totally not a self-insert._**

 ** _Peace. I guess._**


End file.
